


Chicken Little

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fingerfucking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 02:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13848549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Could you do a NSFW fic where the reader accuses Paul of being small and cute, and Paul decides to kinda take control and try to prove that he is not in fact just a cute lil Paulchen'...can do. Adorable baby boy.





	Chicken Little

“…well, you are quite small.”

Paul stops mid-rant and turns to look at you; you lounge on the sofa, and grin up at him, and he leans in, raising an eyebrow. You could laugh. He looks like Chicken Little with a bowlcut.

“I am average height for a man,” he says, and you shake your head.

“Little below,” you mouth, measuring an inch with your fingers, and he bites his lip. His eyes, so round and sweet, narrow as he folds his arms, and then a smirk - a very uncharacteristic smirk - crosses his mouth.

“I am still taller than _you_.” His tone is a little… dark, but you don’t catch it, at least, not until he steps taller and pulls you up by your wrist. “Aren’t I? Darling?” You gasp a little, looking up at him, and he smiles again. There can be something very sleazy in his smile, sometimes, you realise, and you grin.

“You’re so cute…”

He pulls you in, kissing you more passionately than you remember him ever doing; his fingers are sunk into your wrist, and you gasp as he bites at your bottom lip, before smiling a little mischievously.

“Now you are in trouble.” You raise an eyebrow, and are totally unprepared for him to push you down onto the sofa with all of the unstoppable-ness of an iron weight. You push against him, still smiling, and then your smile fades when you realise you can’t move him. “I said you are in trouble.”

Your heart begins to pound; you whimper as he pushes his leg between yours and kisses you, holding your hands above your head. You’ve never seen this side to Paul, and as he grinds his hips against you, you look up at him; there’s something in those eyes that’s burning, and you realise, a little too late, you may have underestimated him.

“Paul,” you whisper, and he grabs your collar. It takes frighteningly little effort for him to tear your shirt down the middle, and you gasp, moaning quietly as he presses kisses to your chest down to your bra, which he pulls down to lick your nipples and pinch them. As he rolls them between his fingers, you arch up against him; it almost hurts, and he smirks up at you.

He doesn’t say a word; he simply pulls down your jeans and panties, and looks back up at you before stroking his fingers through your wetness. You inhale softly, closing your eyes as he teases you a little, before he slides his fingers inside you and you gasp.

“Paul…”

“Shut up,” he says, softly, and you shiver - then his mouth is back on your breasts, and he begins to stroke you and pump his fingers in and out of you. You move your hands to his head to stroke through his hair, and your warning not to do so comes in the form of a bite to the skin of your stomach. You yelp, and return your hands to their place, staring at him as he goes back to your nipples, biting and licking at them. They’re so _sore_ \- but somehow, that’s heightening the feeling, making it more intense, and you whimper for him to _stop_ only to realise you really don’t want that. He doesn’t, anyway - he knows you too well, and you grind down on his fingers, aware of how incredibly wet you are.

You have the sense not to moan his name, but you do whimper, shifting against him - somehow, it’s more intense because you can’t touch him or direct him. Your toes dig into the arm of the sofa, and as he blows cold air over one of your nipples, you jolt in pleasure.

“Tell me when you are going to come, okay?” he says, and you nod; you honestly aren’t that far off, with his fingers stretching you and the way he’s rubbing your clit as well. You tell him as much when you feel that hot-cold burn between your thighs, in a gasping, stilted voice, and he smirks again, sinking his teeth into your skin. You moan, every bite adding a tingling after-feeling to the sensations you can feel all over your body, leaving your skin prickling under his mouth and-

“Paul,” you mouth, breath catching in your throat, and then you come so intensely that your vision goes grey and your head swims. He continues to rub you, massaging every last second of your orgasm out of you, and you collapse back onto the sofa, eyes almost rolled back in your head.

He waits for a moment, and then kisses you; you can barely manage to reciprocate, slumped against the couch, and then he grins.

“I hope you do not think that we are finished,” he says, sternly, and you look at him. “After all… I have a long way to go to show you that I’m not _just_ a cute face.” He smirks at you again, and then as he bites you, you moan, chest heaving. You _definitely_ underestimated him.


End file.
